The Big Jump | Flash Fiction

Illustration of man jumping - "The Big Jump" flash fiction

I jump and my stomach – I swear to God – my stomach leaps up into my throat and tries to choke me to death.

I cough and hack and gasp for air as I tumble over and over, seeing green then blue then green then blue. Air rushes past me and batters my face, stinging my skin. If this hurts, what will the landing feel like? Face-first into concrete, in an ideal world. Will I feel anything at all or will it all be over before I know it?

I should do the thing. I don’t wanna do the thing but I should do the thing. It was part of the deal when they let me on the stupid plane.

Should I? Now’s the chance. Now or never, maybe. I don’t wanna do it. I’m not gonna do it. Ha! I’m not gonna do it!

God fucking damn it, why’d I do it? Why did I pull the cord? How did I pull the cord without even realising it? Stupid instinct for stupid survival.

The parachute opens and tugs me upwards and I almost bounce in mid-air as everything slows down. I can see it all properly now. Rolling green countryside, tarmac roads like liquorice laces, hedgerows like chunky green caterpillars, clusters of sheep like marshmallows.

Pretty, I guess. Impressive, this big rock we call Earth. Almost – almost – brings a smile to my face.

It’s relaxing up here. Makes me realise how small I am, all things considered. I’m just a speck on this planet – one of billions that live here right now and one of trillions that have ever lived here. Takes the pressure off just a little bit. Makes me realise that I worry way too much about my own futile, insignificant existence.

Here comes the ground, slow and steady. My feet touch down with a thump and I tumble over in the grass – grass, not tarmac – so gently that it’s hard to believe I was 13,000 feet in the air just a few minutes ago. Not a bone broken. Not a hint of pain.

I look up at the sky and let out a deep breath.

Yeah, it was alright. Bit underwhelming if I’m being honest. Totally not worth the soft, safe landing.

I guess I shouldn’t have pulled the cord.


Stories that Sing

Stories inspired by a random songs from my Spotify library. This time it was “Sitting Up On Our Crane” by Pond.

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Author: Ellie Scott

Ellie Scott is a freelance copywriter and fiction writer from Sheffield, UK. She writes speculative and silly short stories and flash fiction. She has published two short story collections - 'Merry Bloody Christmas' and 'Come What May Day'. In 2018 she was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize Short Story Competition. She can often be found loitering on Twitter (@itsemscott), Instagram (@tinysillystories) and Medium (@elliemaryscott).

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